


Kevyn: Up to Now

by PhantomCortex



Category: Room of Swords (Webcomic)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomCortex/pseuds/PhantomCortex
Summary: Kevyn a new traveller, awoke for the first time in a strange, new and dangerous land. A land cursed with an infection that transformed the human population into savage and crazed creatures that wandered the dying husk of their world seemingly aimlessly.Eventually he would meet many more travellers (as depicted in the Room of Swords Discord RP), before that, this is his story.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	1. Fish Out of Water

A cold, wet, darkness swallowed Kevyn's senses as consciousness slapped into him. As his eyes snapped open to desperately find his bearings, his instinct was to draw a breath. Cold water flooded his mouth as he opened it, sending alarms racing through him.

As panic clawed at his brain, he let out a short, sharp gasp. A silvery burst of bubbles flooded his vision before he clamped his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to recover the escaped air he so desperately needed.

As the bubbles dispersed in the void and his clambering, clawing, fretting flailing, he realised with dismay that he was floating in a dark void of water. With no idea how he came to be here, he frantically searched for a sign on how to escape.

His vision darted around as he tumbled in the deep, frantically searching for a sign of which direction he should go. No matter where he seemed to look, there was nothing but an impenetrable darkness. As he felt his hope fading with his breath, a dim, watery light washed over his vision. With his waning strength he struggled to focus on the source. With all his might, he fought against his instinct to expel his lungs and pushed with all his might towards the light.

Praying that it was up, not down.

The light faded again – or perhaps it was his vision that was dimming – as he pressed on the only course he had. As darkness all but had him, he felt the surface break around him and he all but screamed out the spent air in his lungs before greedily gulping in an all too welcome fresh breath. His spent muscles buckled in relief, dropping him briefly beneath the surface as he sucked in air and water, sending him spluttering as he scrabbled at the surface.

As fresh air cleared his mind he slowly controlled his stroke and looked around for a shore to swim to. Wind lashed at his face as a downpour began on cue to a blinding flash of lightning followed almost immediately by a peel of thunder. The brief, stark light showed him what seemed to be rocks ahead of him. Not wasting any time he pulled himself through the cold gloom and towards the brief outline of direction and hope he had.

Quickly he felt firm ground beneath his legs and found himself clawing his way out of the water and onto a cold hard ground. In flashes of lightning he could make out what appeared to be broken buildings, their walls stabbing into the sky like the bones of a fallen colossus. Piles of rocks and overgrown grasses clung to them as though trying to drag them back into the ground. He stumbled in his cold, wet boots towards the dilapidated structures, seeking any solace from the cutting wind.

As he entered, his feet rolled on a loose stone, throwing him forward in a sudden headlong rush. The wall where his head had been moments before burst into a shower of rubble and dust that rained down on him, mixing with the wet rain to plaster is hair and face.

Kevyn grunted as he struck the ground, his bare knees beneath his kilt splitting on the scree-strewn surface as he skidded forwards. He looked up in confusion at the sudden hole that had smashed open in the wall behind where he had been

“You missed, Attaeus.” a voice laughed, “Told you that streak wouldn’t outlast this weather. Bet’s a bet: that’ll be one whole manana muffin.”

Kevyn blinked back confusion as he crouched in the shelter, instinctively reaching for the bow that had mercifully remained on his back and nocking the only arrows he had: wet, but the best he could do.

He scanned the darkness for the source of the voice. The surroundings were as dark as ink and the rain that fell ran down his face and over his eyes, obscuring his already limited vision. Before he could locate the owner, another voice came from the darkness.

“It isn’t one of them.” It sounded surprised and relieved, “I’ll happily trade a manana muffin for the life of another traveller. Come on, Tenzil, I think you’ll like this one.” the voice sounded amused.

Kevyn found the direction of the voices and drew his bow in anticipation of hostility, but he barely had the string taught when the same feminine voice drifted out the darkness.

“Stand down, archer.” The woman spoke, “We mean you no harm.” When Kevyn didn’t release the bow, she added, “If I wanted you dead, the next shot would be in your head instead of that wall.”

She stepped close enough to him from the gloom for him to make her out slightly: blonde hair dropped around her ears, moving slightly in the wind, framing her pale eyes. She gave Kevyn a disarming smile as a large metallic object in her grip faded to nothing. “See?” she held her empty hands up, brown leather fingerless gloves wiggling in a harmless gesture as she approached him. “Unarmed.”

“Ha!” Barked the voice behind her as he stepped into sight, “The day you’re unarmed is the day that damned lake freezes over.”

Kevyn glanced back to the body of water where he came as the woman responded to her companion, “Tenzil.” her voice had a dangerous edge to it, like a warning shot, “He’s clearly new here, let’s not give him the wrong idea.”

Kevyn eyed the pair as they approached, still cautious of the strangers. He lowered his bow, knowing he was already at a disadvantage. At best he would get one shot off, and with the wet arrows there was no guarantee he would hit his mark. For sure, though, he would not have the chance to fire a second shot before one of the two would be on him. He glanced at his belt for his daggers and was relieved that they, too, were on hand.

“He looks like a drowned rat.” The man called Tenzil sighed, pityingly.

“Then _let’s help him_.” The woman jabbed back, “We don’t all wake up on a warm bed.” She chided, “As well you know.”

Seemingly ruffled by her words, Tenzil crouched at an empty space in the clearing and began arranging some of the larger bricks into what Kevyn clearly recognised as a fire pit. He soon had it full of wood, though Kevyn could not say where the branches had come from, before holding his hand over the pile.

Still crouched, Tenzil locked eyes with Kevyn and grinned, “ _Fire!_ ” he announced dramatically as the stack of wood burst into flames, giving Kevyn a start.

The woman seemed to roll her eyes at this as walked closer to Kevyn, “Don’t mind Tenzil, he likes to show off.” she shot her companion a glance before extending her hand in offer to Kevyn. “I’m Attaeus.”

As the light from the fire flooded the clearing, he could see the woman better. Her blonde hair, given a warmer hue by the flames, clung in wet strands to a petite, heart-shaped face. Her eyes, which Kevyn had only seen as pale before, could be seen as a captivating light red in the better light. Her frame was slight, but her poise told of unexpected strength coiled within the slender frame. Her clothes were dark, in contrast to her pale complexion, light hair and mesmerising strawberry eyes. A dark blue coat stretched from her shoulders to past her knees, parted past her hip to allow freedom of movement. Long trousers covered her legs beneath the coat, fashioned from the same dark blue fabric.

Extending his own hand to meet hers, a gesture he was not accustomed to exchanging with a lady, his eyes never left hers as he introduced himself, “Kevyn, M’Lady.”

Grinning as she did, Attaeus shook his hand firmly before releasing it and turning to Tenzil, “You hear that? I’m a _Lady_.” Tenzil rolled his eyes as he warmed his hands by the fire, “You best mind your manners.”

“My _sincerest_ apologies, Lady Attaeus.” Tenzil responded, his words dripping sarcasm and he offered a poor imitation of a bow from his crouched position, “Should I have you a litter prepared for _the ‘morrows_ travels? _Mayhap_ we could train the infected to be your bearers?”

Attaeus laughed, a lilting sound that Kevyn couldn’t help but feel warmed by.

“Oh, Tenzil.” she sighed as she sat by the fire, warming her own hands, “You were once the bashful, silver-tongued gentleman, too. Whatever happened to you?”

Tenzil raised a single brow in her direction, saying without words that she knew all too well what had changed him.

“How many journeys have we been on, Attaeus?” Tenzil remarked rhetorically, “We’ve been the most constant to each other. Others,” he glanced to Kevyn, “They come and go.”

Kevyn shuffled towards the flames to begin drying his water-sodden clothes in the heat, “Where are we?” he asked, struggling to keep focus on the different aspects of their conversation in this foreign place.

Attaeus shrugged as she regarded him, “No one we’ve met knows where this land is. We’ve met countless strangers and no one has called it home. On our many journeys, we have explored it well and can only tell you what we’ve observed.”

Attaeus paused as she regarded Kevyn, looking him up and down with a slightly tilted head. He wore a simple black kilt, his legs bare beneath. On his feet were plain, brown leather boots with woollen socks, both of which were clearly sodden from the soaking he had endured. On his top he wore a dark leather jacket over a dark woollen shirt. Kevyn could feel he discomfort growing as she scrutinised him but before he could speak she continued.

“I judge you from a time long before mine. I’d say somewhere back in the twelfth Century. If it’s even the same world. She shrugged, “Not that it matters. Not really. Not here.” Seeing the growing confusion spreading on Kevyn’s face, she elaborated, “Whatever land you come from. Whatever time it was. This world seems to be separate from anyone you will ever meet here. This world, to me, is more like a broken copy of my own. While I wouldn’t say it was the _same_ world, it is similar enough that it doesn’t seem strange to me. You, though, will find this land like something alien. Foreign.” She added at the last, seeing the lack of understanding to the world ‘alien’ register on Kevyn’s face. “We may not be from the same world, but by your dress and weapons, I would guess your world as being some eight hundred to a thousand years before mine, and whatever parallels there are in this world.”

Seeing the bewilderment on Kevyn’s face, Tenzil offered some light consolation in what appeared uncharacteristic to what Kevyn had seen so far.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know. By Attaeus’ judgement, she is right that our timelines may not be far apart. While she says this world is similar to hers, it is also far different to any of ours. If you do not learn to live by the rules of this world, you will die by them.”

Seeing Kevyn’s brows knitting together in a defensive reflex, Tenzil continued, “That is not a threat, Kevyn. It is simply the truth of this world. In this land there are creatures, we call them infected, which will try to kill you. They look human – well, some more so than others – but they are not. They amble around in grunts and barks mostly, but many are coherent enough to speak and almost appear normal. You can see it in their eyes, mainly, though. Their eyes are either dead, or crazed. They act erratically and quickly become violent when near a living person. That was why Attaeus shot at you, your lumbering walk was much like an infected’s.” Attaeus offered Kevyn an apologetic smile while Tenzil continued, “Fortunately, you were clumsy enough to live.”

Kevyn took a deep breath as he buried his face into his hands. Was this but a dream? Some crazy nightmare from which he would awake? What he had seen and heard of here – infected creatures, magic fire and strange metal devices – were like nothing he had ever encountered in his life, awake or no. Dreams, in his experience, always echoed some part of the reality. Magic… perhaps, that was the stuff of his fantastical childhood stories that his mother and grandmother had told him of… but the rest? He had never even contemplated such before, let alone had anything to base it on.

He exhaled slowly through the gaps in his palms before looking up and between Attaeus and Tenzil, “You said this is not our world. If you are both not from here, like me, how do we get home?”

Attaeus sighed wistfully as she looked from Kevyn to Tenzil, “We don’t know. Not for sure. At the centre of this land, floating in the sky by some seemingly magical means, there is a fortress. It is one place both Tenzil and I have never explored. There is a deeply ominous feel to the place. A persistent storm seems to keep us trapped within this land, but that dangerous building is undoubtedly at the heart of it all.”

Tenzil continued, “We suspect that the means for us to return home is inside there. Maybe a door, maybe a spell. Who can say? All I know is that nowhere we’ve found outside of that place shows any promise for returning us home.”

“So,” Kevyn began, “Why haven’t you ever went to this fortress? Is it heavily guarded?”

Attaeus shrugged, “Hard to know. Just getting to the place is a challenge. There only seems to be a few ways of reaching the platform it is perched on. We’ve never stepped up to the challenge, not with two of us and within the time frame.”

“Time frame?” Kevyn asked, his head starting to hurt from all this strange information, “What time frame?”

“The black sun.” Attaeus stated, as though it explained everything, but she continued all the same, “You cannot see it right now, not in this weather, but despite being black, it burns bright. It never sets, but it _counts_. Like a clock. Like an hourglass. The black circle ticks away. Once it is gone, _everything_ is gone.”

“Everything? But you and Tenzil…”

“Everything.” Attaeus repeated flatly, “Before that black sun vanishes, you need to make sure you’re dead.”

The cold seriousness in her voice chilled Kevyn more than he had ever known.


	2. Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevyn's new companions attempt to teach him the ropes of this new world he is in.

With a wet _thunk_ , the last creature fell.

“Impressive.” Attaeus smiled as the trio emerged from their cover of brush and approached the fallen form.

While certainly human in origin, there was no mistaking these for people. Their features were twisted, misshapen abominations of what once was. Brown-orange fungal growths deformed what once may have been a normal, perhaps even attractive, face. The eye socket bulged painfully in orange and white fluid-filled pustules, the skin around it was swollen, discoloured and scarred. The hands at the end of the brutish, warped arms were stretched, blood-stained appendages that looked more like claws than human hands and fingers. That which may have once gently caressed a loved one now only bore the terrible truths of what they had become: merciless mauls.

“Five down in less than ten seconds.” She remarked as Kevyn yanked the arrow shafts from the dead and inspected their quality for repeated use. “I had long dismissed bows as slow, cumbersome and ineffective.” She watched Kevyn as he returned four arrows to his quiver and discarded the fifth after recovering the arrow head from the split shaft. “You’ve given me reason to reconsider.”

Kevyn smirked in return, “A lot quieter than your _thunder metal_ too.” He retorted playfully, “Your weapon, while small and fearsome is no good for stealth.”

“This…” Attaeus removed her pistol from her gun belt and held it up with apparent admiration, “Is both more powerful and faster, in the right hands, than your bow.” She argued, “But for stealth…” Without taking her eyes off Kevyn she aimed the gun seemingly at the ground and fired a single shot without hesitation

The head of the nearest infected burst in a gory display, the concussive sound from the shot echoing off the buildings beyond the open area in which they stood. She suppressed a smirk as Kevyn, still entirely unaccustomed to the _thunder metal_ as he called it, jumped at the sudden report.

“I agree, definitely no use at all.”

She nodded her head in indication to Kevyn. He turned around to look in the distance of the direction she had pointed and, stumbling from between two dilapidated buildings, was another of the creatures. His sharp eyes could only just make it out and, even then, it was mostly just the movement, the erratic lurching motion betraying the nature of the newcomer.

“Kill it.” She challenged with a wry smile.

Kevyn rolled his eyes and started forward, but a firm hand on his shoulder pulled him back. He turned in confusion; but, before he could speak, Attaeus added,

“From here. Now.” she looked more amused, compounding the confusion Kevyn felt.

He looked from Attaeus back to the creature, which had paused to _sniff_ the air. While Kevyn understood from Attaeus and Tenzil that the motion was actually the creature angling its head in an effort to hear further sounds by which to echolocate its prey, the motion looked so much akin to sniffing that Kevyn had coined it so from then on.

“Impossible.” Kevyn shook his head, “There’s no way that shot could be made, not with this bow at least.” Kevyn lifted his weapon up in display as he regarded it.

His bow was a medium range weapon, built for hunting game at a respectable distance. It was accurate, but not strong enough to make long range shots and certainly not with any degree of accuracy.

“Perhaps if I had a longbow…” He looked back to Attaeus, who cut his sentence short with her disarming grin.

He found himself inwardly remarking on her beauty whenever she smiled. It always lit up her face and diminished any world-weariness that this life had left upon her. Her skin, while pale, was clear in complexion and remarkably bore no scars despite what seemed to be battle-hardened bearing.

The night before Attaeus and Tenzil had set up a rudimentary camp for them on the shore that he had effectively washed up on. The fire pit Tenzil had crafted would last as long as required, if well-tended. Firewood may become an issue over time, but there were trees present that should cater for them until they figured a way out of this bizarre world, he figured.

They had huddled within the crude shelter while the storm raged beyond the broken walls. It was a meagre camp, but enough to dry Kevyn and his clothes off. They had talked for some time as Attaeus and Tenzil relayed what they knew of this world. It was full of tall building – taller than Kevyn would have ever seen, Attaeus assured him – and many of them on the outskirts had been torn down, most likely a result of the wild storm that ripped around in the perimeter the fortresses domain. Closer to the fortress at the centre of the city the buildings once again stretched up to the sky. Largely they were empty. Void of life and what possessions remained were all but useless, even by serving no valuable purpose for their means, or corroded by the same fungal growth that devoured the living of this world. The infection, they had explained, was not only a blight on those who had once lived here, but on the city itself. Bulbous growths clung to stone and steel. Glass windows were streaked and stained with tendrils of stringy, flowery vines that linked growths nearby.

The city was both living and dead, as Attaeus had described it. Only, what life was here, was death incarnate. The meandering creatures that once were human sought to devour you. The walls of the city, with its colourful growths, could be equally dangerous. Unexpectedly the pulsating sacs could spit or pop, throwing spores and gases into the air.

Whatever this place was, Kevyn had reasoned, it was not a place he wished to stay. His own world was teeming with life. Deer would bounce through the forests and meadows. Birds would sing through the tree tops. Even the wolves, bears and mountain cats were, while dangerous, all part of the cycle of life. This world was death and death is where it sought to drag everything within it.

Despite this, however, Attaeus seemed to not have lost hope. She was confident that they would be able to escape this wretched place one day, when the time was right. She had smiled often as they conversed, the two of them staying awake beyond Tenzil – who had grumbled about wasting time if they were not ready at first light – and that smile had given a sense of purpose to Kevyn, who felt otherwise lost in this strange – _alien_ , as she had called – world. As though even the cruel world was no match for her smile of hope, by the morning the sky had cleared above them. In the distance, well beyond the outskirts of the city, the storm still raged on, keeping them penned as they had described before. He had awoke that morning a peculiar sense of wonder at his surroundings. He could see the tall buildings they had described – _skyscrapers_ , Attaeus had called them for clearly obvious reasons – and the black sun in the sky. A large wedge missing from the upper right section of it. While the first sight of it had given him a sense of foreboding, Attaeus flashed him another smile had assured him he would get used to it sooner or later.

Kevyn was lost in that lovely reverie of a smile when she held her arm out peculiarly out to one side. Before Kevyn could utter a word of enquiry, a huge, dark metal object materialised within her grasp. The centre section of it was chunkier before quickly tapering down to a long, narrow shaft, not dissimilar to her pistol, but several times longer. At the other end, however, he immediately recognised the system that she called a trigger.

Kevyn’s eyes widened in shock and awe, both at the artefact she held and the means by which she came to be doing so. There had been no evidence of her carrying such an object before and, certainly, he had seen it materialise out of thin air.

Leaving his unasked questions hanging in his silent, jaw-dropped mouth, Attaeus raised the weapon to her shoulder, holding the broader front end in one hand and the trigger in the other while she looked down a tube that rested atop the device.

“Attaeus!” He whispered sharply over her shoulder, as though already compensating for the noise he anticipated, “If that’s a _thunder maker_ like your pistol… it-“

To Kevyn, the far larger weapon would surely be several times louder than its more compact counterpart. He braced himself for the coming crash as he saw her finger tighten on the trigger. He watched as the entire shaft seemed to shift in recoil but the noise that came forth was barely more than a loud sigh.

From the corner of his eye, almost instantly afterwards, was a spray of red as the skull of the creature burst into a red mist.

“They’re not all loud.” She winked.

“How…?” Kevyn asked, dumbstruck, unsure even himself which _how_ he was referring to.

“This is what we call a rifle.” Attaeus explained, “They are slower to fire than my pistol, but their range – even compared to a longbow – is substantially greater.”

Kevyn nodded numbly, accepting her description at face value after what he had witnessed. “And…?”

Attaeus looked like she was enjoying herself all too much, “And then we come to your next lesson, since you clearly have little to learn in defending yourself.” She indicated towards the five fallen creatures, “Inventory. And no, I don’t mean making a list.” she added to bat away the starting of understanding Kevyn thought he had managed. “In this place you can carry things without _carrying_ things. We call it the inventory. It’s like a storage box that you can’t see and can’t touch, that takes up no space and weighs nothing. Sounds perfect, right?” She grinned, “That’s because it is.” the rifle in her hand faded to nothing.

That something so large and powerful could simply be made to vanish was implausible enough, but that Attaeus could call it back at will was incredible. Attaeus and Tenzil had been giving him a crash course in what this place was – and how to stay alive within it – and he was quickly coming to realise that this place was not only far from his home in setting, but the laws that governed nature seemed to be bent or – in cases like this – broken.

“How does it work?”

“It gets easier with time and practice, but it starts with a need. When you feel the need to have something you have stored, you focus and…” She held out her hand and a clip of ammunition appeared within her palm, “Once you don’t need it any more, you simply apply the same in reverse.”

The clip vanished.

“Sure. Simple.” Kevyn retorted flatly.

“Of course, I can’t have you call anything out of inventory if you don’t have anything in it.” She carried on, choosing to ignore his sarcasm. “Put your bow and arrows down and remove your knife belts.” Kevyn eyed her sceptically, “Oh, come on, it’s not like you’re any danger with me.”

Sighing, Kevyn complied and dropped the equipment on the ground. Attaeus bent down and slid a single knife from its sheath, passing it hilt first to Kevyn.

“This should do the trick.”

Kevyn reached out to take the blade, but Attaeus pulled it jut out of reach as he closed his fingers on where the hilt had been. Glaring, Kevyn grabbed again, missing once more. Next time he made a lunge without success as Attaeus nimbly side stepped his advance.

“This is really immature, you know.” He grumbled as he spun to face her.

Attaeus petted her lip while replying in a mocking tone, “Aww, boo, am I too fast for you?” She dodged him again as they moved around the field, her agile steps never giving so much as an inch to Kevyn’s attempts.

“Hmph!” He grunted as he leapt again.

This time he would have her for sure, she was backed up against a block of broken concrete, the reinforcement bars preventing her escape. She stopped dead in her tracks as she backed into the concrete. His hand closed on thin air as she deftly flicked the dagger from hand to the other. In the same, fluid motion, a small, oddly familiar artefact flashed within the hand that had held the knife moments before. She clamped a metal ring upon the wrist that had grabbed for the weapon, before slamming another ring around the metal bar. He looked from his trapped wrist to her face, which he realised now was a scant breath away from his own as he had closed the distance before. He felt a rush of warmth before the tightness on his wrist pulled him back to his present predicament.

“Manacles?!” He objected, yanking at the metal bracelets and chain that bound him to the pole. “What is this?” Kevyn continued to struggle against the bonds to no avail, the metal on metal chinking fading uselessly into the open arena.

“Thought you had me?” Attaeus smirked with the barest of playful winks, “I’m not so easily caught.” From nowhere – or, rather, her so-called _inventory_ – came her small gun, the pistol.

“Attaeus…” Kevyn stopped yanking so much and raised his hands nervously, “What are you doing?”

Kevyn had not known the woman for long – less than a day, in all – but there was a disarming nature about her that had put him at ease around her and, by extension if nothing else, Tenzil. She had been open and upfront with any questions he had had about this bizarre land and she had been friendly. At least, until now.

“Do you trust me?” Attaeus asked, gun in hand.

Kevyn swallowed and locked eyes with hers. Unflinchingly, she kept her eyes on him, not blinking, not betraying any notion of her intent. She held the weapon casually in her hand, lazily pointed towards the sky. He stopped fighting the restraints and lowered his arms, subdued as he regarded her, still his eyes were locked with hers. He felt… something pass between them, though he could not say what. He realised, though, in a mix of relief and dread that if she wanted him dead, he would be gone already. She was faster than he was, with far deadlier weapons. That aside, as he stood now, there was nothing he could do should she want him dead. All she need do was point and fire.

With that stark realisation in mind, he gave a single, firm, nod.

“I do.”

“Good.” She smiled, “Then, know that I do this for your own good.”

Without hesitation she raised the gun above her head and fired three rapid shots into the sky. Kevyn flinched involuntarily at the noise as it echoed off the distant buildings. Kevyn looked at her for a long moment, confounded.

Within seconds, though, he heard them. The moans.

Another of the creatures, alerted by the gunfire, dragged itself in their direction. It groaned and grunted between strings of incoherent words as it meandered its way in their general direction, tilting its head as it _sniffed_ for its prey.

“Attaeus, it’s one of them. Could you-”

“Nope.” She replied cheerfully as she hopped up on another rock from a broken building and rested the gun on her lap. “That one’s yours.” As she finished, she put her fingers to her lips and gave a shrill whistle that shot through the clearing as true on of her bullets.

The monster bolted more upright as it caught the sound, its gait extending and speeding up in an awkward stumbling half run. The creature, Kevyn could make out, what malformed in the face, a bulging fungal growth bulging from the top of its skull and another from its cheek. Warped clothing told of similar growths beneath the fabric, the worn threads stretching almost to breaking point as they fought to hold in the grotesque growths within.

“Attaeus…” Kevyn started nervously, “I’m bound to a pole and unarmed.”

“So you are.” Attaeus shrugged, “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“Do about it?!” Kevyn retorted in rising panic, the creature bounding towards him now. “What do you expect me to do? Punch it? Release me and give me my bow!”

The creature could now be heard distinctly shouting at them as it half ran half fell towards their location, blackened teeth rearing from pulled back lips.

“Well, you could try complaining to it.” Attaeus shrugged.

“ _Attaeus!_ ” he growled impatiently.

Attaeus hopped down casually from her rock, giving Kevyn a brief moment of hope before she slapped his dagger on the nearby rock, scant inches out of his longest reach.

“Come on!” Kevyn pleaded, trying with all his strength and reach to get to the blade, “Please… you know I can’t reach that.”

“You can.” She replied flatly, stepping into his line of vision and holding his eyes with hers again. “This is not a betrayal, this is a lesson. You can reach that, if you place it in your inventory. You just have to _need_ it enough.”

She took a step back and turned to hop casually back on her rock, as though this was all a normal occurrence. The creature advanced and, within lunging distance, leapt at Kevyn.

Screaming in terror, he thrust his fist and forearm into the creatures throat as its black teeth made to gnash at his face and neck. Its desperate, angry screeches became gurgled grunts as it continued to press its throat against Kevyn’s resisting arm, wild teeth gnawing at thin air as it chattered madly at thin air, hoping to find something to sink its teeth into.

With his other arm, Kevyn continued to reach for the blade, finding each time he dared glance back he was still no closer to having the weapon.

“Focus.” Attaeus replied, seemingly calm despite the chaos unfolding before her.

“Sorry, but I’m a bit _distracted_ right now!” He growled back, the bound hand still holding back the beast as dark, dirty fingernails gouged at his arm, drawing bright red blood that only seemed to incense the monster further.

Kevyn cried out in pain before reaching up with his unrestricted arm to grab suddenly at the matted hair behind the creatures head and smash it face first into the brick, using the creature’s headlong rush to get at him to add force to the strike. The creature bounced backwards after a crunching noise that was barely audible amongst the shouts from Kevyn and his attacker.

It made an attempt at scrabbling to its feet, stumbling disorientated in a circle as a bulging white eye flopped gruesomely on a short, gory string from a bleeding socket that had been smashed on the stone.

Its cry seemed to amplify in agony and ferocity as it leapt in a wide arc towards Kevyn. Perplexed as it was at the sense of vision it must now have, it leapt towards Kevyn, but only struck the stone block that was now between them. As it scrabbled it reach him, its foul hands smashed against the knife Attaeus had left him, sending it tumbling towards the ground.

Kevyn lunged for it. The bonds on his other arm snapped tight as the blade tumbled out his reach.

It vanished.

Kevyn searched the ground frantically for where it fell.

“Well done.” Attaeus applauded from further back, “You have it.”

Kevyn blinked.

“Now _use_ it.” She insisted.

The creature lurched over the rock, trying to bite at his restricted hand in bewildered fury.

Kevyn used his free hand to strike it on the back of the skull, smashing its face into the stone again and being rewarded with another cry of anguish from the beast.

“Die!” he shouted, smashing the creature with his balled fist as it flailed at him, the eyeball now lost and forgotten on the grass.

“Are you _actually_ punching it right now?” Attaeus sighed, her placing her face in her palm in dismay. “Use your knife, Kevyn.” She encouraged from behind.

As he pounded at the face, the flesh becoming a red pulp, the creature opened its dark maw of a mouth and sank black teeth into his wrist, savagely twisting its neck to tear and rend flesh from bone.

Kevyn screamed as he pounded furiously with his other arm.

“No!” He punched again. “No! No!”

_No… no… n…_

Flashes of light filled his vision. Waves of heat washed over him. The acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils.

He screamed as his vision darkened and images of green and orange and red flashed before him. The images blurred with another scene, one of violence and smoke, as his eyes rolled in his head and his body went limp.

“Shit…” Was the last thing he heard from behind him as the world went black.


	3. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After falling unconscious while fighting the infected, Kevyn relives an old memory and learns more about his current predicament.

The sky was golden with the light of the setting sun. Deep reds mixed with warm oranges, enchanting blues and intoxicating pinks. The sun, still halfway to the horizon, hung framed amongst the brilliant glory of the beautiful light, the day coming to a breathtaking end. It had been a good day, Kevyn decided. His practice arrows had struck true and he had barely missed a shot. He had even compensated for the wind as it came in brief gusts.

She had watched him with affection and pride as he hammered each shaft into the target, though he could tell as he looked back and caught her eyes when she wasn’t expecting it that there was also apprehension in her. He was quickly becoming good with the bow, remarkably so, but to think of him in harm’s way disturbed her. Kevyn had, more than once, heard her thank the gods that he taken to archery, at least, rather than swordsmanship.

It was not for a lack of courage that Kevyn had taken up a bow and arrow over a sword, but rather a natural calling. He remembered, when he was younger still, watching with admiration as the hunters in the village would perform drills with bow and arrow. They would line up and fire sets of arrows and compare their accuracy and speed. He watched with awe as the best archers struck bullseyes successively, bare seconds between each shot. No, from the time he could walk, he knew he would be an archer.

His father tousled his hair, as they sat watching the sunset. He had been out on patrol during the afternoon and had not long returned, later than usual. Local game had been hunted by poachers recently and the village had increased presence in the hunting grounds in an effort to discourage or, better, catch the bandits. Poachers, hunting for fun or to sell to further flung villages, often killed without care or concern for the balance of the local area. Killing the wrong male or taking too many females from a single herd could destroy their sustainability and, ultimately, diminish stock across the area.

They had picked up a suspicious trail, but lost them in the mountainous area to their north, the footprints vanishing upon the harder ground and the sporadic greenery leaving less evidence of their passing. While trails could still be followed with enough skill and time, it was something the party had lacked and – not wanting to be caught in any potential ambush – the group had returned home, satisfied that they may have, at the least, given the poachers a scare. If not enough to chase them off, perhaps enough to slow their efforts.

“I hear you did well today, Son.” He grinned, “Almost all perfectly on target? You’ll be giving Patrick a run for his money soon enough.” he winked, quietly offering Kevyn a drink of ale as he glanced to his wife to make sure she was not looking.

“Fraser!” Came the scolding as his father realised he had not been as subtle as he thought, “You know I think him too young for that.”

Kevyn’s father opened his mouth to offer a defence when suddenly cried erupted from around them. Suddenly smoke bellowed over the rooflines of the small village, belching upwards to poison the majestic sun. Next came the triumphant battle cries splitting the air as every man in the village grabbed their arms and armour.

“Raid.” Fraser cursed as he grabbed his broadsword, Kevyn’s mother already assisting him in donning his simple leather-padded armour.

Kevyn grabbed his bow.

“No.” His father interceded bluntly, firmly. “It’ll be dark soon and they’re coming from the direction of sunset. Even experienced archers will be hard pressed to help tonight.” He fixed Kevyn with a hard look, as though he already knew his son would attempt to argue. “Stay. Here.” he commanded, pointing at the ground between them.

“Keep an eye on this slippery one.” He smirked at his wife, “I’ll be back after I deal with this rabble.” he gave her a quick kiss before crouching to Kevyn. “You need to look after your mother for me, alright?”

Kevyn nodded his affirmation and his father winked before turning and taking off towards the growing flames and sound of clashing steel.

“Kevyn?” His mother’s voice was gentle, trying to pry his eyes and pull away from the direction his father ran. “Come on, let’s go fetch the McCallums.”

The McCallum family was a young couple that lived nearby. The father, a herder, was often alone with his flock and was a skittish man at best as a result. He was used to the relative silence and, with the tumult and raucous of battle, was often put towards the rear of the defence in times like this. That, however, did not put his wife’s mind well at ease. She knew the kind heart of her husband and doubted he could raise his blade to kill another person, even if pressed in battle. More like, she feared, he would stand startled and be bowled over without a pause in his attacker’s stride. While she was holed up at their home with their young son – some five years younger than Kevyn – and infant daughter, she could barely keep them calm for her own nerves that she may never see him again.

Already they could hear the cries of distress coming from their home across the street, the sounds of battle filtered through the streets from the distance; invading the households of those left behind from the conflict. Many families huddled in their homes, or visited friends and family while they waited for news. The McCallums, new to the town, were less connected and Kevyn’s family had semi-adopted them into their own. Kevyn’s mother and father had helped get them settled and Kevyn had shown their son, Rory, the best places to play and introduced him to his friends. Kevyn’s family had been there to share the joy when their daughter, Adeline, had been born. Since the McCallum’s arrival, their presence had been welcomed at Kevyn’s home to help distract the family from the worry.

The five of them settled to the small family room inside the home, Kevyn’s mother cooing over the now-giggling infant. She had a way with the girl, Candice McCallum, had declared within weeks of her birth. Where her own jittery nerves often kept the youngest McCallum on edge and prone to crying at the slightest noise, Elspeth – Kevyn’s mother – overruled any concern Adeline may have by flooding the girl with joy and laughter. She would tickle, tumble and cuddle the babe into knots of boundless laughter. The game distracted both daughter and mother.

Kevyn and Rory would slip off to his room and distract each other there. Kevyn had several small targets carved from wood and stone and a small sling shot with smoothly rounded pebbles. Kevyn would set up the shooting range and the boys would have shooting competitions - such as they were (Rory was a terrible shot and even Kevyn, playing down his talents, could not help but best him on most matches). Kevyn, however, was determined to make a marksman from him.

“Kevyn,” Rory began as he took aim, “It _will_ be alright, won’t it?” his pebbled went wide, bouncing harmlessly off the back wall of Kevyn’s room with a wooden _thunk_.

“Not if you keep shooting like that.” Kevyn sighed, shaking his head as he retrieved the pebble. “Remember lesson number one.”

“Don’t miss?” Rory offered.

Kevyn fixed him a dry look, a wry smile on his face, “For you, we’ll make that lesson number two. Lesson one,” Kevyn announced as he crouched down next to his friend, “Keep your eyes open!” he commanded, flicking his friend’s forehead.

“Ow!” Rory complained with a laugh as he rubbed his head, “I do!”

Kevyn rolled his eyes, “Go again.”

Rory took aim, pulled on the pouch and was about to release when Kevyn interrupted, “You’re doing it again.” he commented flatly.

“What?” Rory blinked, lowering his sling.

“You’re screwing your eyes up. How do you expect to hit a target you can’t see?”

“I’m aiming!” Rory defended, “You squint when you shoot too!”

Kevyn laughed, “I close one eye, briefly, before I fire. Not both!”

Rory looked sheepish, “Oh.”

“Try again.” Kevyn managed between breaths as he regained his composure. “This time, try to keep at least one of your eyes open, eh?”

Rory smiled, “I’ll try.”

He raised the sling and took aim again, adjusting himself as he closed one eye and fired.

His reward of a stone-on-stone _clink_ was drowned by a surge from the skirmish beyond the window. The boys paused, looking at each other before hopping up to the window and looking through the murky glass, half expecting to see a charge heading their way.

No one came. The battle raged on, though the clashing was louder.

In the next room, the laughter paused briefly before continuing again.

“Kevyn.” Rory whispered as the pair scrutinised the crest of the hill through the gaps in the cheap glass. “It _will_ be alright?”

“Of course.” Kevyn nodded, glancing towards his room door. “I… I’ll go scout, okay?”

Surprised, Rory looked back at the door too, “Your mum won’t let you.”

Kevyn raised a single finger to his own lips as he dared to share his secret, “She doesn’t have to.” he whispered, “Watch.”

He pulled a knife from his belt and leveraged at a joint between two of the boards behind his bed frame. Gently, inch by inch, he pried the board open and gave himself a narrow few inches to squeeze through.

Rory looked nervously over his shoulder at the door before whispering to Kevyn, “You’ll never fit through that…”

Kevyn winked, “I did last night.”

“Never.” Rory denied, looking at the scant space.

“Really?” Kevyn smirked, “Ask Skye.” he winked.

Rory’s jaw dropped, “You? _Her_?”

Kevyn grinned with pride, “I’ll tell you more when you’re older.” he teased, “Now, will you cover me?”

Ignoring the jibe, Rory furrowed his brow, “How?”

“Practice.” Kevyn nodded towards the sling, “They’ll hear the clatter and think we’re still both here playing. I’ll be back way before they come in to check on us.”

“But-“

“I’ll go out, look for your dad – he’ll be safe at the back line, an unneeded reserve in case some savage breaks through the line.” Seeing his friend pale, he quickly added, “But they won’t, they never do. I’ll be right back.”

Slipping out with more ease and less grunting than Rory believed possible, Kevyn melted through the gap in the boards, grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows concealed behind a stack of firewood and darted off to the hill in the distance, the clang of metal on metal and the dark smoke billowing into the sky guiding his way.

As he crested the hill, the mayhem of the battle hit him like a log. He felt the blood drain from his face and the panic rising in his chest. This wasn’t the same as before. This wasn’t the blind charge the raiders had used before. The raiders had set fire to the crops to lay smoke across the fields and, with the aid of the setting sun, blind both the fighters and the archers.

As he watched, the defenders fell back removing themselves from the shroud and edging closer towards the hill upon which he stood. The smoke, further from the fires here, thinned and the charging barbarians became more visible. Villagers clashed sword to shield as the attackers came without halt to smash them and break through to the town beyond.

Other archers joined him atop the hill, firing without noticing him as the sight lines became clearer. Not waiting for instruction, Kevyn raised his bow and, standing amongst his fellow villagers and archers, took aim towards the invaders. His first arrow arced high, coming down amongst the enemy ranks and striking naught but earth. His next loosed shaft sailed over the swordsmen of his village and sunk deep into the collar of an invader. Blood sprayed upwards and outwards. The man fell instantly to the dirt, only to be replaced by another.

Kevyn expected to feel a lurch within himself as some part of him realised he had, for the first time, killed a man.

Adrenaline, however, kept him going. Without pausing to register the gravity of his actions, he notched another arrow, drew and loosed. Another invader fell.

Clear of the smoke, the defenders began to reclaim the upper hand, the advantage of home territory, and greater height winning over the sheer brutality of the savages that came as an onslaught to their home.

A sudden surge from the ranks of the enemy made the defenders falter, their own lines falling back a step as the flanks shivered, a few barbarians breaking past the defensive wall only to be mowed down by the array of archers at the higher vantage point.

Kevyn spotted, almost absently, near the rear of the line, Rory’s father looking around anxiously, wishing to be anywhere but there as the defence pressed back against him. No more attackers came with the surge, which appeared to be a violent thrust to break their lines as they realised that their own charge had been broken when they came through the smoke at the other side. Archers, including Kevyn, fired over the defenders into the diminishing ranks of the attackers.

Suddenly, screams erupted behind their lines as smoke began to burst from the town. The archers shouted the alert as a small band of attackers were seen within the village, having circled around from another direction.

Kevyn looked from the battle before him back to where his house was and then back again. The alert snapped some heads around to face them.

His father’s eyes found his amongst their madness, a mix of confusion and anger creasing his face.

Kevyn raised his voice to shout the warning.

He drew on the arrow nocked in his bow.

Fraser, Kevyn’s father, spun back to the enemy.

Kevyn loosed, too late.

Dark steel made crimson burst from his father’s neck as a barbarian thrust with a broadsword and found flesh.

Kevyn’s arrow found the barbarian.

Too late.

His voice, inside and out, screamed.

The world seemed to move in slow motion. Beside him, archers peeled off towards the village to pick off the contingent that had broken though. More arrows loosed from those around him.

The last, desperate, push from the invaders crumpled under the volley and returning thrust form the defenders.

Kevin did not feel himself collapse to his knees. The world was slow, numb.

The defenders raised their arms. Cheering.

Brandon, Rory’s father, smiled in relief.

_Kevyn. It will be alright?_

No…

“Kevyn?”

Distantly, he felt a hand upon his shoulder. Squeezing.

“He’s broken, leave him.”

“No.”

The world around him shimmered. Images flashed through his mind.

He was older. There was… a deer… then… fire…

“We don’t have time for this.” A man’s voice. New, familiar. Rough. Abrupt.

More violence. Screams. Smoke. It chocked his every breath. It stung his eyes.

“You had time for me.” A woman. New, more familiar. Silk. Soft.

“That was different. I could help you. I could save you.”

Kevyn slowly looked towards the man’s voice, his vision a haze of wet tears.

“He can help us.” His head rolled towards the woman’s voice.

He blinked and the world around him shifted. The smoke that choked the air condensed to stone. A blue sky contrasted the gloomy grey that surrounded him. His vision began to clear. The woman was blonde. He couldn’t make out her face. His mind fought to make sense of where he was.

“We can’t save him, Attaeus. We have only two swords.”

_Attaeus._

Kevyn’s mind flashed images. A woman. Beautiful. Her blonde hair gliding gracefully around her flawless features in gentle breeze. Pale red eyes. Breathtaking. Gripping. Alluring. A smile that melted his fears.

“Then we’ll get the other, Tenzil. Let’s finish with this realm and leave. With him.”

_Tenzil._

More images flashed. A man. Tall. Trim. Hard. Short, dark hair. His eyes were of steel: grey and cold with a lethal edge. His voice, his words cut.

“You know we can’t leave here.” Tenzil began.

 _Here_.

His world. His past. They vanished abruptly as here and now crashed into him with thundering force. A dismal world. Covered in broken stone. Scant grass. Inhumane creatures that hunted the living. He was trapped here, wherever here was. Attaeus. Tenzil. They had found him. They could not leave.

“Not without the answers we came for.” Tenzil finished.

“What?” Kevyn spoke suddenly, grunting as he propped himself up to look at his travel companions.

Attaeus was crouched beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder as she looked up towards Tenzil who stood, towering over them. His arms were crossed firmly as he stood apart from them. He poise screamed impatience as he implored Attaeus to move on with him. Attaeus’ hand tightened on his shoulder as though it were her anchor.

“Kevyn!” Attaeus smiled, her face lit up with joy, “You’re awake…” Relief rung on her voice.

Reflexively, Kevyn smiled back, her smile and relief briefly distracting him from the words he had heard as he came to. He tore his eyes from Attaeus, directing his gaze to Tenzil. He was an easier target for the anger he felt rising within him. For all his indomitable will and intimidating posture, Kevyn would sooner front him than the disarming smile and caring eyes of Attaeus.

He abruptly came to his feet to confront the stoic man, “You lied to me.” When the only reaction he got from the man was a raised eyebrow, Kevyn charged on, his temper rising, “You told me you did not know how to get home! Damn your _answers_ , I need to go home. _Now!_ ”

Tenzil’s eyes shifted to Attaeus, who had risen to her own feet now. He closed his eyes, slowly, as though practicing his own restraints to keep his patience while he spoke in a level tone.

“We don’t have time for this, Attaeus. Let’s go.”

Tenzil turned to walk away but Kevyn grabbed his fore arm, “You’re not going anywhere.” he growled, “You know how to get home. _That’s_ the only place we’re going.”

Tenzil casually flicked Kevyn’s hand from his arm, though his eyes burned with a barely restrained fury as he addressed Attaeus, “We spent good medicine on him. Leash your _pet_ before I’m forced to waste it more than it already has been.”

Kevyn’s anger flashed like lightning. Without hesitation his fist crashed upon Tenzil’s jaw as thunder, knocking the man off his feet and sending him sprawling across the grass, his black and red robes tumbling over his limbs.

“Kevyn, don’t!” Attaeus reached out to stop him, but Kevyn was already moving.

In a single stride he closed the gap between him and the fallen Tenzil. He threw his body towards the man, his fist raised to bring it crashing upon Tenzil’s face when a single, open, hand shot out from beneath Tenzil’s robes and thrust upwards towards Kevyn as he was about to collide with the mage. Kevyn felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as he suddenly soared backwards, flying through the air, propelled by an unseen force, before striking the stone behind him. The back of his head smashed into the unyielding rock sending a dizzying, ringing through his ears.

He pushed the feeling aside and tried to focus on Tenzil, only to find himself pinned, feet off the ground, against a section of collapsed building. He looked down at Tenzil who seemed to float effortlessly from the ground to his feet, the same hand trained on Kevyn, seemingly holding him at this disorientating height.

“You impertinent fool!” Tenzil hissed at Kevyn, “We rescue you. We train you. We help you. Now _you_ dare attack _me_?” Tenzil scoffed, “You ungrateful, ignorant ant. It is only for Attaeus that I do not squash you here and now.”

Kevyn struggled against invisible bonds. His arms and legs were pinned, spread eagle, against the cold stone. As Tenzil spoke, he could feel a tightening at his neck, like an invisible hand reaching around it and slowly, surely, crushing his throat. Kevyn tried in vain to suck in air, not so much as a gasp able to pull through the constriction.

Attaeus stood frozen. Her mouth limply open as she seemed to struggle to find the words she needed, denying her body any motion that may enflame the situation.

Kevyn glared defiantly at the man that held him. His eyes burned with fury. He strained still at the unseen forcing assaulting him. He tried, furiously to move his right arm, hoping that if he could move even one limb the spell that bound him may be broken. With surprise, a knife appeared within his grip. Grunting with effort, Kevyn flicked his wrist, sending the knife hurtling towards Tenzil.

The blade stopped in mid-air, scant inches from Tenzil’s neck. He beheld the blade with what seemed mild interest as it hovered in the air before it fell, harmlessly, to his feet.

Tenzil dropped his arm. Kevyn tumbled unceremoniously to the ground, spluttering as he tumbled into a heap of convulsing limbs as control, and breath, suddenly returned to him. Instantly Attaeus was at his side, untangling him from himself as he drew ragged breaths between violent coughs.

“Make the most of the next twelve hours, Attaeus.” Tenzil advised bitterly as he turned to walk away, “I’ll see you next time; until then, leave me alone.”

By the time Kevyn’s breathing was back to normal, Tenzil was long gone. Attaeus remained by his side, offering him a drink of water whenever he could manage between coughs of clotted blood.

“Why?” Kevyn rasped as he passed the water skin back to Attaeus, his voice brittle and heavy with hurt and betrayal, “Why did you lie to me…?”

Attaeus gently accepted the water from him, though her eyes never left it. Her soft, lightly tanned fingers traced the shape of the bottle, her eyes lingering on it, daring not to look at him in his pain.

“It’s… complicated.”

“You know a way out of here.” It wasn’t a question.

Attaeus nodded. Her eyes still clung to the unjudging bottle in her hands.

“You don’t want to go home?”

“It isn’t that simple.” Attaeus drew her eyes from the bottle and settled her gaze on Kevyn.

His face was a confusion of anger and bewilderment with tones of joy and hope. She forced herself to hold his stare, searching his eyes for readiness on the answers she had never given him before.

“We can’t go home.” She began, shaking her head to quiet him as his mouth twitched, ready to retaliate what, to him, seemed a contradiction.

“This world is what we call a Realm. It is one of many. We don’t know why we are here. We only know the instruction we all hear as we start each journey. _You’ve been chosen to conquer this world where past and future fuse. Your trial awaits: Complete the Room of Swords_ ,”

“… _And open the gate to freedom…_ ” Kevyn finished.

Attaeus nodded, “When we awake here, we have thirty six hours. The objective is straightforward: find the boss and obtain this.” A sword appeared before her, resting in her open palms. The blade was angled, keenly sharp in the midday light. The pommel was a curious ring shape. “The boss sword. This is the most important item we can hold on our voyages here. Tenzil and I each have one from other realms. Only a boss sword can open the doorway to the Room of Swords. However, the Room will not open while the realm’s boss still has their sword. To leave here, we must defeat the boss and claim its sword. From there, we can return to the Room of Swords.”

Kevyn reached out and traced the length of the blade with his index finger, the steel was cold and he could feel a hint of the edge testing his skin even from the flat side.

“So, while the boss of this world lives, we keep repeating the same thirty six hours over and over? That’s what Tenzil meant when he said he would see us next time.”

Attaeus shifted her weight as she sat, carefully considering her next words.

“Sort of…” She looked back to Kevyn, holding his eyes with her own again, “That is perhaps the most important reason for a boss sword. Only with a boss sword can you remember previous voyages. Without a boss sword, you will not remember anything from before and any items you earned or skills you learned along the way will be gone.”

Kevyn frowned, “So, tomorrow, I will be back to where I started… with no knowledge of you?”

Attaeus gave a shallow nod.

“So, Tenzil… was right.” Kevyn noted with resentment, “No matter what I learn, it will be gone tomorrow. I can’t help you.”

“No, Tenzil was wrong about that. I have taught you a lot, more and more each time.” Attaeus explained with rising hope.

“Each time?” Kevyn’s gaze snapped back to her with surprise, “This… this isn’t my first voyage?” She didn’t have to speak for him to know the answer, “How many?” he asked, tentatively.

“Twenty eight.”

“Twen…” Kevyn, drifted off in numb silence as his head reeled at the numbers, “I’ve been here… over a month?”

Kevyn felt his skin crawl and panic begin to well up within him.

_A month._

He needed to get home.

Did he still have a home to go to?

Was it…

Smoke. Orange flames. Darkness. His mind swam with images.

Attaeus placed a small, warm, gentle hand upon his face, snapping him out of his darkening thoughts.

“You need to get home. We have the means to help you do that. The faster we move, the faster we get you home.”

Attaeus got to her feet and walked over to wear the discarded blade rested on the ground. She returned to Kevyn, holding it by the blade as she offered it to him.

“Tenzil was wrong about your ability to help, but he was right about one thing.”

Kevyn extended his arm to take the offered knife, stopping short of taking the hilt as memories of the earlier conflict flashed back to the forefront of his mind. The knife vanished from Attaeus’ hand and, moments later, appeared in his own.

“What was that?” Kevyn smiled as Attaeus’ beamed at him with pride.

“We need to make the best of the time we have remaining. Come on, we have work to do.”

Kevyn raised a sceptical eyebrow at her, “It doesn’t involve tying me up again, does it?”

A coy smile crossed her alluring face.

“No promises."


	4. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kevyn once again finds himself lost in a world he does not know.
> 
> Perhaps there is yet some hope on getting free of this land...

A cold, wet, darkness swallowed Kevyn's senses as consciousness slapped into him. As his eyes snapped open to desperately find his bearings, his instinct was to draw a breath. Cold water flooded his mouth as he opened it, sending alarms racing through him.

As panic clawed at his brain, he let out a short, sharp gasp. A silvery burst of bubbles flooded his vision before he clamped his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to recover the escaped air he so desperately needed.

As the bubbles dispersed in the void and his clambering, clawing, fretting flailing, he realised with dismay that he was floating in a dark void of water. With no idea how he came to be here, he frantically searched for a sign on how to escape.

His vision darted around as he tumbled in the deep, frantically searching for a sign of which direction he should go. No matter where he seemed to look, there was nothing but an impenetrable darkness. As he felt his hope fading with his breath, a dim, watery light washed over his vision. With his waning strength he struggled to focus on the source. With all his might, he fought against his instinct to expel his lungs and pushed with all his might towards the light.

Praying that it was up, not down.

The light faded again – or perhaps it was his vision that was dimming – as he pressed on the only course he had. As darkness all but had him, he felt the surface break around him and he all but screamed out the spent air in his lungs before greedily gulping in an all too welcome fresh breath. His spent muscles buckled in relief, dropping him briefly beneath the surface as he sucked in air and water, sending him spluttering as he scrabbled at the surface.

As fresh air cleared his mind he slowly controlled his stroke and looked around for a shore to swim to. Brilliant sun glistened on the water, bouncing off the surface and fragmenting into countless dazzling shards of light that forced him to squint. Regulating his breath, he tread water and shielded the light from his eyes with his hands. A short distance away, he could make out what appeared to be the stony frames of abandoned buildings. Sporadic tufts of long, reedy grass dotted the shore line, dark green moss lined the stony edifices and, written in large, stark, white font upon the stone within the sheltered space was

So stunned he almost sank, Kevyn felt his heart pounding in his chest and a cold sense of foreboding crash over him like a wave. He swam cautiously towards the shore, scanning the landscape for any signs of other people nearby, his mind racing with possibilities.

_Where am I? This place is… like nothing I have ever seen._

The shoreline upon which he stood was spotted with rocky debris and shoots of tough, unyielding flora, punctuated with larger masses of broken, stony structures. The shape was clearly deliberate, crafted, not a natural formation. Whatever these buildings were, they had long since collapsed, the nature of the world already slowly winning the battle to reclaim the terrain for its own. Beyond the foreign shore was a plain of dense wiry grass; remnants of older building still reached out from the field, almost entirely reclaimed by the wild.

In the distance, however, immense buildings filled the horizon, stretching upwards towards the surprisingly sunny blue sky. Kevyn blinked in astonishment. He had seen castles before, but this was like a city made from them. What possible use was there for so many structures in one place when the land seemed so empty? Was it populated before? So many that such great abodes were required? If so, what had happened to such a nation?

If that were not enough to complete this tableau of bizarre occurrences, above even those looming structures was another, atop a high hill within the heart of the cityscape. To either side of it there were… _floating_ rocks… Kevyn’s mind spun as he watched them remain suspended in the air, flanking the colossal building upon the ground. It was only then that, following the rocks back to the main focus, he realised that it did not sit on a hill. The hill itself was also suspended. A surreal numbness washed over him.

_This must be a dream…_

He surveyed the bizarre sight from the distance: it was like a section of land had been lifted from the ground by some mighty force and then left suspended in the sky, as though lifted and then forgotten on whim.

_No…_ he corrected himself. _Not forgotten…_

As he looked at the structure that, he knew without scouting, would be in the middle of this city he felt a chill in his spine and a heard a whisper in his head that seemed to summon him.

“ _Kevyn…”_

He took a step forward before a glint in his peripheral vision, drawing his attention back to the alcove he had seen from the water, his name still written in bold letters upon the wall, in defiance of any belief that he had somehow imagined it. He looked around again, expecting to see someone. Some beacon of sense in this crazy… whatever this was. Tentatively, he approached what appeared to be a makeshift camp.

Just off centre of the small room-like space, closed on three sides by broken, but sturdy looking, walls, was a pit made from neatly stacked stones that was clearly constructed as a fire pit. In the far corner of the space, tucked neatly against the wall, was a dark, metallic looking box with a hinged lid. It was above this box that the ominous white name was written.

Kevyn traced the letters with his fingers. Something about it, more than just the fact that it was _his_ name, sent a chill through him. He rubbed his fingers together, the white chalk dust flaking off to sprinkle upon the dark chest below. He looked around again, almost expecting some kind of trap to spring. When there was no signs of anything untoward, Kevyn crouched down and inspected the box.

It was simple metal box, unadorned with any kind of elaborate trimmings or designs, the black colour itself seemed to come from some kind of paint. There was a latch present at the front, and a place to secure a lock, though none was present.

Carefully lifting the latch, Kevyn opened the chest.

More good fortune, it seemed, had visited upon him. Within the chest was a load of well-made arrows, a few strange looking vegetables, dry kindling and a letter.

He unfolded the letter and was startled immediately by what he found within. Before he had even began to peruse the actual content, his mind reeled as he stared dumbfounded at the letter and then to the chalk writing. He realised now, what had chilled him before.

It wasn’t only that the chalk writing – and the letter he held in his hand – were addressed to him, they were also written in what looked too much like his own writing. Had _he_ had wrote this to _himself_? He certainly had no recollection of doing so.

Collapsing against the wall that cornered on the box, Kevyn began to read. He tried to convince himself, in vain, that this was a mistake; that he could not have written this to himself. As he read on, however, it became clear that this was not so.

_Kevyn,_

_I have written… you have written… we have? Ugh… I have wrote this letter to you, me, to help you understand this foreign land you sit in._

_Firstly, and most importantly, do not put this letter anywhere but back in the chest which you found it in. It must remain there… why will become clear._

_Secondly, this world is dangerous. Supplies have been left for you in the chest. Take what you need. The strange vegetables – heartbeets – will heal you if you become injured._

_By now, you will be believing this too strange to be true. That there is a ploy. To that, I offer something that only you… we… would know about: Rory and the chicken._

Kevyn smiled despite himself at the memory. Rory, pulling the string back on Kevyn’s bow, his arms shaking with the effort as he tried to train his aim in on the bullseye of the straw target before him. He had drawn too soon. He did not have the muscles to the draw for long to aim and this betrayed him as his limbs tired and the arrow loosed and flew high and wide of the target. It was an impressive distance, Kevyn had admitted. As luck – or lack of – would have it, the shaft had – against all odds – found its final resting place in the earth, but not before piercing a chicken in a flawlessly clean kill. Kevyn’s childhood friend had panicked, knowing the pen had belonged to the McInnis’ and dreading the idea of telling them. Kevyn had not hesitated, he plucked the arrow from the ground – chicken and all – and stuffed the stray feathers into Rory’s quivering hands before legging it towards the wilds, beckoning Rory to follow in haste.

They had made a fire by the lake that evening and ate well.

The crime, while far from a hanging offense in any respect, brought about a pact between them to tell no one the truth about that chicken. It had started from Rory being afraid of Mr McInnis’ so-called _fowl_ temper in regards to his proud flock, which Kevyn agreed to so his friend’s nerves would settle. Though Kevyn knew there would not be any lasting or dramatic consequences for the mistake, and (in time) Rory also came to this conclusion, the pact became a sort of badge of honour between the two of them. The guarded secret – kept even from Skye – was recognised as an unbreached code of confidentiality between them. They would not share that secret – or any others that would develop – with anyone else.

No one but he – and Rory – would know the tale and Rory certainly did not seem to be anywhere to be seen. Not understanding how it was possible, Kevyn had to accept the possibility that he himself had, indeed, wrote this letter.

The paper went on to describe the world in which he was. The variety of creatures that were found here, their weaknesses, their hunting patterns and how to hunt them. It summarised a bizarre time limit that cycled this world every thirty six hours and that, through which, he was able to leave supplies and this letter to himself. That the letter must be returned to the box, for having it on himself if he were to die or the time expire would cause the letter to vanish completely, leaving himself at a disadvantage the following cycle.

Kevyn paused, considering the absolute absurdity of all this. As much as he could not deny that this looked like his writing or that the story of Rory’s chicken was indeed a most private one… was it more likely that he had someone lost some memory and, for some reason he could no longer remember, disclosed the story to someone? Or perhaps Rory was in some way involved…

Both options were convoluted, but at least the latter had some basing in reality.

He returned to the letter. It went on to outline how he planned to get home.

_You are not alone in this dead place. There are at least two others. A man of magic, whose name is Tenzil. Be wary of him. He lacks patience, compassion and cares not for your well-being. The other, a woman of otherworldly talents. She shoots iron pellets from slings of thunder she calls guns. She is as deadly as she is beautiful and she knows you well. Listen to her. Follow her without question. Trust her with your life and honour for she is your hope. She will expect outlandish and seemingly insane things from you. You must listen to her._

_She will ask the seemingly impossible of you. Be prepared to open your mind and do not question her. I know this, so you must take my – your own – word for it: this place is not natural. Embrace it._

_Tenzil and Attaeus have artefacts that allow them to retain their memories when this world cycles. I have used this cycle to bestow you with knowledge, for it is all I can do. Attaeus will use the strength she retains to train you and with her aid – and Tenzil’s – we will escape this world and find our way back home._

_They will meet you here. Good luck continuing our journey. I pray the time you read this is the last, that this is the voyage we win free._

As he finished the missive, his ears picked up a noise not so far away. Taking his own advice, he tucked the letter into the chest and extracted a dozen decent arrows.

He crept to the edge of the small encampment he was sheltered within and looked out what appeared to have once been a window. About fifty meters away, meandering through the scrub, was a human figure with painful looking growths protruding from their limbs, torso and face. It grunted in punctuation to each mumbled attempt at words that it made. it head twitched in manic reflex, as though its own words seemed to startle it from whatever process still perpetuated through what was left of its mind.

Kevyn knocked an arrow and raised his bow.

_So, this…_ he reflected as he focussed his aim on the blood shot eye that would allow the arrow a clean, lethal blow _… is an infected._

He loosed. The shaft flew true. The creature gave a manic twitch at the last second before the shot landed, sinking the arrow grotesquely in one cheek and out the other at an awkwardly rising angle that put pressure on the blood shot eye from within, causing it to bulge painfully from the socket.

It squealed in blood chilling pain, its howl echoing through the otherwise empty field. Kevyn flinched involuntarily, his brain battling what he had just read – that these creatures were durable unless hit in the right place – against what he had known all his life – that such a shot would be, if not fatal, immobilising.

Yet, this creature, still screeching – now in a mix of pain and anger – charged towards him. Its mouth was wide open, dark, crooked teeth dripping with blood from the arrow wound that continued to seep gore into its mouth. As it rushed towards him, the blood pushed back into its throat; not slowing it but giving the scream a desperate, wet, overlay.

Kevyn knocked another arrow. He had been in battle before, an enemy charging his position, while he worked his bow and held firm and calm; able to knock, drawn and loose, before the assaulting swordsman closed his advance. This monster, however, shook him and he found his hands less certain as they worked the string.

He drew, raising his bow in a single, fluid motion that his muscles had been trained in from youth.

Moments before he loosed, the head of the creature exploded into a spray of blood, bone and deformity. Pieces of the decimated head _thwopped_ on the hard, stony ground and rolled to a grisly stop inches from his feet, a red trail left in their wake.

Kevyn, bow still drawn, trained his aim around before him in a mix of alarm and confusion.

As he turned, his eyes immediately caught sight of another approaching him. Her shoulder length blonde hair bounced lightly as she approached him, her hands raised with open palms to indicate a lack of aggression. As she neared, he could make out a slight, heart-shaped face with startling eyes of pale red. Her smile was as disarming as her raised arms. Her long, dark blue coat fell past her curved hips, swaying with her nimble strides.

Only when she was a step away, and spoke his name in recognition, did Kevyn realise he had been holding his breath.

“You truly are…” Kevyn cleared his throat, “…deadly.” he adjusted.

Attaeus chuckled, “I see my reputation precedes me.” she winked, “That’s good.” she nodded, a more serious tone, though her voice was still soft like silk to Kevyn’s ears, “Let’s go, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Kevyn awoke in darkness, a sharp sound snapping him instantly from his sleep. He looked around the small room and saw Attaeus nearby, crouching, her finger over her lips in silent command for him to stay equally quiet.

The room they were in, Attaeus had told him, had been set up together as a place to rest mid-voyage. The voyages, being thirty six hours long, were too much to push hard for the entire time. They rested during the night hours, when the darkness made it more dangerous to be in the open where their own senses were limited, but the ‘echolocation’ of the infected were not so affected.

This room was situated within the so-called _Mall_. The building, Attaeus had explained to him, was a modern day market of sorts. It housed several stores of various vendors, whose wares were of the type that, in some occasions, did not even exist in Kevyn’s world.

One such merchant sold beds and bedding. Luxury items that were unfathomably comfortable in Kevyn’s opinion. The room was small and difficult to access – a _staff room_ , Attaeus had called it – with locked doors between the room and the main causeways. Some of those locked doors had since failed, leaving them with only a couple of locks distance from what was freely accessible. Even then, however, the corridors that led to this particular room, though unlocked, were narrow and winding. This location was far off the beaten path and, as such, one of the safest locations they could find for such rest. Attaeus held the keys to the rooms, but in the event of an emergency, they could leave the room through what she had called _ducts_ – very different from the _ducks_ that Kevyn had thought she initially spoke of – which would lead them to the roof and, from there, they could find safer passage to leave by.

Kevyn gave a questioning look to Attaeus in the gloom, both their eyes long since adjusted to the dark of the building. She raised her hands in a claw like fashion and made a tongue-lulled face to indicate that an infected had stumbled into the vicinity. Kevyn smiled at Attaeus’ gesture despite the situation. He knew, also, that this indicated the second last lock had failed.

He mouthed silently to Attaeus to enquire how many, she shrugged in return and extracted the key from her pocket as she shuffled closer to him.

“Up for a bit of friendly competition.” she whispered with a wink as she settled next to him.

He responded with a raised brow and a suspicious glance.

“You’ve always insisted that your bow and arrow are superior in stealth when hunting prey.” Her voice, even in the hushed tones she used now, was always like silk in his ears; he could – and had – listened to her for hours. “Game on, Superstar.” she teased, “This is your time to shine.”

“Wager?” Kevyn smirked, getting her gist at once.

“Clear the area. Most kills win.” She stated simply.

“Your boon, in the unlikely event of your victory?” he teased in return.

“A kiss.” she grinned, taking him off guard.

He felt the colour rise to his face, and knew she fully expected such a reaction from him. In the past day they had quickly grown closer – she, for one, knew a great deal about him already. In past voyages, ones he could sadly not recall, she had already learned much of his home and his past. She knew his reasons for such fervour in his desire to get home urgently. She knew that he did not remember the events of his immediate past before awakening in this bizarre world; but knew those memories were there, just under the surface, waiting to float to the surface and shake his composure dangerously in this unforgiving world. She had seen it happen more times than he could truly know, and knew how to handle it better than anyone from his own home ever could. For, within the rules of the world they shared, she knew him better than anyone ever had. She knew what to say. When to say it. What to do. When to do it. She had perfected being… a friend. More?

Kevyn, on the other hand, knew of her only what he had written to himself in the letter and whatever he had garnered from her in their voyage together. His written confession to himself had been dead right. She was beautiful and deserving of his unwavering trust and devotion. He wanted to get home and this was the woman who could get him there. He had to learn this, truly know it, anew each time, though. As beautiful as she was, and as much as his attraction and affection towards her developed in that space of time… nothing had ever really happened between them.

As night fell over the city, they had retired to the safety of this room and talked. He got to know what he did of her. They practiced what they could in the confines of the room. They enjoyed each other’s company. They laughed. They shared stories. Then, finally, they slept. Somewhere along the way he strongly suspected that the feelings he had come to have for her were reciprocated, but never given voice – until now.

Was it him that held back? For all she knew of him, she either never knew of, or at least never mentioned, Skye. He had not brought her up the night before, so it was entirely possible he never had. As strong as his affection was for Attaeus, he could not help but think of Skye. He needed to get back to know of his mother’s fate, but he longed to know his lost love was also well. They still shared the village that had been put to the torch and she and Rory had been his friends from childhood. His lifelong devotion to ensuring his mother’s safety had driven a wedge between him and Skye. He had never resented his mother for that. He blamed himself for letting his father fall that day. It was his responsibility to take up the mantle of protection of his mother.

Yet, here and now, with Attaeus that felt oddly distant. He could not change the fact that he had been here for too long. Whatever had become of his home… the truth was he could not change it now. They would be fine or… not. He still needed to know. He still needed to get home. His heart and his mind fought constantly over the urgency of that. With Attaeus, though, he saw a second chance. He saw hope. He felt like his future could know something warmer, softer, than pure devotion to a deed long done. His heart broke at the knowledge he could not race home.

His honour cracked at the notion he might not want to.

“Okay.” he voice cracked as he replied at last.

“And if you win?” she whispered in return, her voice like a warm caress to his ears.

“Give me you.” He replied in a whispered breath, “Tell me your story. Tell me who you were before all this. Write it down, so that I may you tomorrow as you know me today.”

For the first time he had known, he won a blush from Attaeus. The rose in her cheeks blooming in perfect harmony with her pale red eyes and her luscious lips. He felt himself holding his breath for her answer.

“Okay.” She smiled warmly at him as she nodded.

Their faces were a breath apart, their eyes lingered hungrily upon the others. Kevyn felt her fresh, warm breath upon his cheeks, could smell her sweet scent with every one of his. He felt the pull. Felt her nose sidle next to his. Felt the warmth between them. Felt their breaths become as one.

“Not so fast.” He breathed with all his restraint, a wicked glimmer in his eyes as he pulled back from what had seemed inevitable. “You haven’t won yet.” he grinned against her almost pained expression.

Then, in a perfect mirror of his own, she returned a wicked grin of challenge.

“You are a cruel man, Kevyn” she quipped.

She held up the key between them in silent challenge. He nodded.

Carefully she slid the key into the lock and gently turned it within the barrel to soften the click of the bolt being withdrawn.

In a gentlemanly gesture, Kevyn indicated she be the first to enter. She gave a mocking curtsy before moving ahead.

In a single, silent motion, her rifle was withdrawn from her inventory and raised in preparation. Similarly, Kevyn brought forth his own bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. With a last, silent, glance at each other they diverged – Attaeus heading left and Kevyn heading right.

Kevyn heard the signature _pft_ of Attaeus’ rifle, swiftly followed by a dull _flop_ as the body of her target collapsed motionless to the ground. He loosed his own arrow a moment later, taking down an infected with wet _crunch_ before the same _flop_.

They pressed on, more targets appearing with unexpected frequency. He could hear her weapon firing as he drew and loosed. In the same moment he loosed, he was pulling another arrow from his unseen inventory and nocking it. He would have been confident in beating her before, a quiver at his hip. Now, though, his quiver but a thought away and not weighing him down? This win was already his.

They were through the next room, side by side as they moved to the main corridor beyond.

“Eight.” she whispered smugly as they moved as one, their footfalls silent and their weapons ready.

Foreign whispers, and pained grunts echoed from through the doorway ahead of them.

They were not clear yet.

“Eleven.” Kevyn whispered in retort.

“Lies!” Attaeus hissed under her breath.

Kevyn feigned hurt as he spared a glance in her direction, “Lady, you wound me, truly.”

Smirking playfully, Attaeus stepped through the doorway that led from the minor corridor to the main thoroughfare, her rifle raised. Without skipping a beat she fired in rapid succession, her gun moving with the same grim determination as the woman who wielded it. Three infected dropped seemingly at once.

Another fell a moment later, an arrow shaft protruding from its eye as it slipped silently to the ground.

_Pft._

_Thwak._

Unbidden waves of infected seemed to ooze from the dark depths of the corridor, from either side of them. Kevyn focussed to the right of the doorway they came from, Attaeus to the left. One by one they dropped, only to be replaced by another victim that stumbled awkwardly from the gloom to be felled in turn. Like lambs to the slaughter the came and came.

_Pft. Pft._

_Thwak. Thwak._

Kevyn was beginning to grow concerned on his arrow reserves. They had managed to stockpile well for him, but this seemingly boundless slaughter would undoubtedly stress even those reserves. He was about to suggest they press towards his fallen, that he might recover some of his arrows, when the waves abruptly stopped.

Kevyn panted as he stood silently poised, anticipating a renewed effort to overrun them. For long seconds the corridor was still. Attaeus stood back to back with him, her rifle raised and ready as she scanned the darkness with her scope. Even with such magic, as it seemed to Kevyn, which allowed her to see deep into the dark, she could not see any more movement. She stepped to his side and scanned down his end of the corridor.

“Clear.” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Forty two.” she grinned as she turned to face him, returning her rifle to her inventory as she did.

Kevyn, standing before the corridor they had exited from, returned his bow to his own and gestured with open arms. “Forty two.” he echoed.

Attaeus raised an eyebrow in mock suspicion. “So, we both win?” she offered, “Or do you want a tie-breaker?”

As though in answer, a huge black-clad bulk thundered out of the dark corridor they had left, crashing full force into Kevyn, bowling him over and throwing him across the passage and into the wall opposite with a dull _thud_.

Attaeus’ voice cracked as she called his name. The creature that loomed over her was all muscle and armour. Dark, fabric-covered, plates and a clear visor before a dark helmet marked him as, perhaps once, a police or military official. Now, the infection had him. It had warped his already impressive size into something even more fearful and imposing.

A deep, guttural growl seemed to rumble from within the creature’s chest with distinctly menacing tone. It stepped towards Kevyn, a motionless pile on the floor, its footfalls able to be felt through the floor.

“You again?” she snarled at the creature, drawing its attention from the unmoving Kevyn and, with unyielding force, upon her.


End file.
